Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Door Is Opened
"You can't be here!" Snake remembered the guard yelling as the three figures came nearer, slowly breaking through the dark corridor and stepping into the light. The order had been wasted, for the shimmering brightness of a silver blade quickly flashed through the light and when the man had fallen to the ground – a gash in his stomach – the woman Snake had seen at the warehouse, also one of the Romantics, was standing before him with the cell door wide open and the keys from the guard's belt in her hands. Her eyes glimmered green – the rest of her ace hidden beneath a cloth.
Snake's head turned up toward her, but he was not in awe as any other person would be. He'd seen plenty of freaks in his day, FOX-HOUND's staff along with Dead Cell's ranking high on his list with those of Philosophy close behind. Her speed, while out of the ordinary, was not impressive when matched against Psycho Mantis' psychokinetic abilities, Fortune's bullet- bending skills, and Formal's trusty silver knives.
"I've seen better," Snake replied, seeing her self-righteous smile, determined to demote her self-indulgence. She set the comment aside, knowing it was not one to ponder on, and held out her hand as if to grab hold of his. He shook his head and pushed off of the metal-frame bed that hung from the wall by two chains. "I'm not on the field because I need a woman's assistance. I can stand on my own, thank you."
"Snake," Fox addressed him from the shadows. Taking another step forward, Snake's usual paleness broke into a grin. Standing in the shower of yellow light was Fox – wearing his trench coat as before, but beneath it were not his shirt and pants. "Hmph…like the outfit?"
He wore a biomechanical suit, covering all but his face – its armor turning to mere spandex around his neck and cutting just above his Adam's Apple. His hair was disheveled and loose and his eyes stung with fearlessness. Snake looked back with a noticeable smile.
"Where'd you pick this one up?" Snake joked. It was different from which he had worn at Hell's Outpost, but only slightly. It returned to the traditional blue shade, as it had been on Shadow Moses, and was a bit less bulky than at Hell's Outpost – a result of the absent Cell Drive used to harness the Perfect Cell's energy. But on its shoulder were two letters: PF.
"It's not new," Fox admitted. "Just a customization of the Shadow Moses model. Anonymous bidder took on the job." Snake noted the 'PF' and nodded, accepting Fox's answer. The woman to their left cleared her throat rather loudly and they both turned.
"We can't stay here," she explained. Fox nodded in agreement, and then turned to Snake.
"Otacon and Jack are being held somewhere on this floor," Snake said. Fox looked to the woman who sighed: a sign that he had won.
"We saw three doors coming this way," she stated. Snake looked at her, amused.
"If I'm going to be an annoyance, we might as well know each others' names," he said, but the woman didn't look amused.
"I know your name," she declared rather matter-of-factly before turning on her heel and pointing down the hall. Three doors – two on the right and one on the left – were just a number of paces down the hall. Jerking her head forward, she began to walk toward them, Snake and Fox following her.
They stopped at the first door on the right. Trying several keys in just over a second, she came to the winner on number six. Pushing the key into the gap and turning roughly to the right, the door edged open with the very weight of the keys in the knob, exposing a small broom closet – its back wall no more than three feet deep.
The woman looked to the others, removed the keys, closed the door until the lock clicked back again, and turned to the two remaining doors. Just before the door on her left was another hallway, and up the path there was a fork: they'd come from the right, but there was certainly more to the floor than three doors.
Putting further thought aside, she moved to the left door. It was a thick, steel slab, and when she placed her ear against the cool surface she could hear something tapping through it. She backed up, counted through the keys, and inserted the winner. Twisting to the right, the door was released and with a slight tug it was wide open, a figure falling into the hall from behind it.
He was weak, feeble, and sported a large bruise on his chin along with a long tear in his white lab coat. Looking up, he fixed his glasses on his face and quickly found his footing. Looking at the three characters, a tear began to bead in the corner of his eye and he jolted forward, taking Snake in his arms and burying his head in his shoulder.
Snake patted him lightly on the back, looking at Fox as if embarrassed, and then the two stepped back. Snake smiled and winced when his eyes discovered the large bruise. "You don't look to pretty, Otacon," he admitted, and Otacon cocked his head, a look of humor on his face.
"You've got quite a bump there, too, Snake," Otacon commented, finally bringing a stinging pain in Snake's forehead. He put his hand to it, but only lightly as to not make it hurt any more. All the time he had been awake in his cell his thoughts had been elsewhere, completely shielding him from the pain. Snake shook his head and looked back at Otacon whose gaze had shifted from Snake to the woman that was all ready standing at the door on the opposite side of the hall. He turned back to Snake and without speaking asked him who the girl was. Snake shrugged and went to her side as the lock was released, sending a vibration through the steel and a click into the air.
The door drifted open, revealing Jack who was sitting on the cold floor at the back of the cell, his elbows on his knees and his hands entangled in his hair. When he heard the door sway open, its hinges squeaking, he jumped onto his feet and raced over to Snake and the others with relief. He was not…happy to see them, but relieved nonetheless. The situation was far too depressing and complex for him to even entertain the thought.
"Hi," he said tiredly. Snake found his state somewhat amusing and grinned as Jack walked past, confronting the woman. "I remember you," he said, his face only inches from hers. "What're you doing here?" The woman looked at him without taking offense and simply turned on her heel and started down the hall. She made it only a couple of feet before a loud wave of static erupted from behind. Looking over her shoulder she realized, as did the others, that it was coming from the deceased guard's radio. Otacon's heart froze, but beads of warm sweat began to fall over his eyes.
"Taylor!" a voice cried from the other end. "I'm with the American. He's not stopping," he paused. There were two sets of footsteps echoing in the background – the caller's and the American's no doubt, and one seemed relatively more hurried than the other – probably the caller's, as the American seemed to be coming without fear. "We'll be there soon." There was an abrupt silence before the woman turned briskly toward the others. The American was coming, there was a dead guard on the floor, the cell was unlocked, Snake was not inside…things wouldn't look good.
Without speaking, the woman hurried back toward Snake's cell, and the others looked at her, confused. "We'll only dig ourselves a bigger hole," Jack commented, but he saw that she had stopped before another door. Bearing the keys again, she unlocked the door and pulled it open. The broom closet.
Snake tugged on Otacon's lab coat and hurried down the hall, led by Fox and trailed by Jack. They could hear the faintest footsteps echoing from the stairwell that, through a small number of branching halls, led to their very position.
Fox moved in after the woman, followed by Otacon who found himself between the two, then Jack who was wedged against the hinges of the door and Fox's front, and finally Snake who, when the door closed behind them – keys safely returned to the woman – was forced up against the woman, face to face. He smiled, and even with the absence of light the woman could tell.
"I don't find this the slightest bit funny," she proclaimed, and Snake chuckled lightly.
"Heh…well, if we're going to be this close, we might as well know each other's names," he suggested. There was a wide smile pulled across his face, and the woman hesitated.
"Wordsworth," she said briefly, and when Snake went to comment she put her index finger to his lips. He froze in place, silence washing over them, but as he shifted his feet to find a more comfortable stance he felt something against his ankle and he could feel its weight shift as well.
There was a muffled clatter and a small bucket of soapy water tipped on its side, spilling the water on the floor as the footsteps moved into their hall. Snake cringed, realizing his mistake, and thought it best to remain quiet. The silence was, from then on, undisturbed.
"Taylor!" the guard cried, moving to the dead man's side. He knelt down beside him and touched his wound, picking up a smear of crimson blood. His head drooped low as the other figure stepped over him – the American – examining the body with his naked eye.
"Slashed," he noted too quietly for the others to hear from the confinements of the broom closet. Turning away from the guard who had attended him he looked absently down the hall. "Grey Fox?" he pondered quietly, and again the others could not hear him.
But then, his eyes went to the cement floor and moved to the right side of the hall, just a number of paces forward. A puddle of sudsy water had formed under the door of the broom closet and was seeping rapidly into the hall. The sight sparked a faint smile on his lips and he began to walk slowly toward the door. As he did, the guard who'd accompanied him began to release his firearm, ready for any surprises.
Jack and Otacon both sensed the tension. The unusually slow beat of the American's footsteps was peculiar enough to spark a sense of curiosity, and it felt as if the entire closet was beating in conjunction with their hearts. Clap…Clap…Clap. Otacon's eyes were shooting about the darkness, trying to find a reassuring glare, but there was none. There was only blackness.
Then, a boom of static…and a voice.
"Reynolds," the voice called through the accompanying guard's radio. "Reynolds, the Patriot is on his way! The American is NOT authorized on that level!" Reynolds went for his radio.
"Roger that," he confirmed, and as he let off the button the American cursed to himself in anger. The clap of boots, accompanied by the shimmering rattle of spurs, had appeared at the end of the hall, and the American had quickly, but reluctantly, pulled his eyes off of the puddle and stepped into the middle of the hall, a smile on his face.
Ocelot, whose face was lit by the overhead lights, came down the hall with a forced look of enthusiasm, and as his eyes saw the blood that had formed around Taylor his lips fell into a disgusted grimace. "What is this?" he asked, stopping before the two men – another guard at his side.
The American turned to the corpse, looking almost surprised to see it there, and then looked back at Ocelot. "Murdered," the American replied, his voice muffled through the broom closet door.
Ocelot's eyes quickly jumped to the open cell door, and then turned to the two others, which were held open behind him. Facing the American again he watched with expectation, waiting for explanation.
"I came down here to assess the situation," the American claimed. "When I returned from the docks, I had asked to speak with the Snake. The guards first denied my authorization, but when they came themselves they saw that the Snake and his friends had made it out of their cells. Still, they did not allow me on this level, but I saw it fit to investigate…I hoped they would not manage an escape." His eyes drifted over the puddle of soapy water and then jumped back to Ocelot who, while knowing the story was false, had forced a solemn expression.
Pulling a radio from his beltline, Ocelot lifted it to his mouth and pressed down on the side button. "All units – there are radicals abound. Keep your eyes open." He lowered the radio, slipped it back onto its mount at his belt and looked at the American without any expression whatsoever. "You two," he began, referring to the two guards, "search the floor." They nodded. "And you," he paused, looking directly into the American's eyes, "come with me." The American nodded compliantly and walked to Ocelot's side, his eyes still watching the water spill into the hallway ever so slightly.
Then, pivoting on his heel, Ocelot started back down the hallway, the American at his side. Reynolds and the other guard looked at each other and sighed before starting up the hall as well, to check the two cells ahead before moving throughout the rest of the floor. They walked right through the puddle, but never even realized.
And, after Ocelot's and the American's footsteps die away, and the two guards have moved into far-off hallways…the door to the broom closet is opened.
"You can't be here!" Snake remembered the guard yelling as the three figures came nearer, slowly breaking through the dark corridor and stepping into the light. The order had been wasted, for the shimmering brightness of a silver blade quickly flashed through the light and when the man had fallen to the ground – a gash in his stomach – the woman Snake had seen at the warehouse, also one of the Romantics, was standing before him with the cell door wide open and the keys from the guard's belt in her hands. Her eyes glimmered green – the rest of her ace hidden beneath a cloth.
Snake's head turned up toward her, but he was not in awe as any other person would be. He'd seen plenty of freaks in his day, FOX-HOUND's staff along with Dead Cell's ranking high on his list with those of Philosophy close behind. Her speed, while out of the ordinary, was not impressive when matched against Psycho Mantis' psychokinetic abilities, Fortune's bullet- bending skills, and Formal's trusty silver knives.
"I've seen better," Snake replied, seeing her self-righteous smile, determined to demote her self-indulgence. She set the comment aside, knowing it was not one to ponder on, and held out her hand as if to grab hold of his. He shook his head and pushed off of the metal-frame bed that hung from the wall by two chains. "I'm not on the field because I need a woman's assistance. I can stand on my own, thank you."
"Snake," Fox addressed him from the shadows. Taking another step forward, Snake's usual paleness broke into a grin. Standing in the shower of yellow light was Fox – wearing his trench coat as before, but beneath it were not his shirt and pants. "Hmph…like the outfit?"
He wore a biomechanical suit, covering all but his face – its armor turning to mere spandex around his neck and cutting just above his Adam's Apple. His hair was disheveled and loose and his eyes stung with fearlessness. Snake looked back with a noticeable smile.
"Where'd you pick this one up?" Snake joked. It was different from which he had worn at Hell's Outpost, but only slightly. It returned to the traditional blue shade, as it had been on Shadow Moses, and was a bit less bulky than at Hell's Outpost – a result of the absent Cell Drive used to harness the Perfect Cell's energy. But on its shoulder were two letters: PF.
"It's not new," Fox admitted. "Just a customization of the Shadow Moses model. Anonymous bidder took on the job." Snake noted the 'PF' and nodded, accepting Fox's answer. The woman to their left cleared her throat rather loudly and they both turned.
"We can't stay here," she explained. Fox nodded in agreement, and then turned to Snake.
"Otacon and Jack are being held somewhere on this floor," Snake said. Fox looked to the woman who sighed: a sign that he had won.
"We saw three doors coming this way," she stated. Snake looked at her, amused.
"If I'm going to be an annoyance, we might as well know each others' names," he said, but the woman didn't look amused.
"I know your name," she declared rather matter-of-factly before turning on her heel and pointing down the hall. Three doors – two on the right and one on the left – were just a number of paces down the hall. Jerking her head forward, she began to walk toward them, Snake and Fox following her.
They stopped at the first door on the right. Trying several keys in just over a second, she came to the winner on number six. Pushing the key into the gap and turning roughly to the right, the door edged open with the very weight of the keys in the knob, exposing a small broom closet – its back wall no more than three feet deep.
The woman looked to the others, removed the keys, closed the door until the lock clicked back again, and turned to the two remaining doors. Just before the door on her left was another hallway, and up the path there was a fork: they'd come from the right, but there was certainly more to the floor than three doors.
Putting further thought aside, she moved to the left door. It was a thick, steel slab, and when she placed her ear against the cool surface she could hear something tapping through it. She backed up, counted through the keys, and inserted the winner. Twisting to the right, the door was released and with a slight tug it was wide open, a figure falling into the hall from behind it.
He was weak, feeble, and sported a large bruise on his chin along with a long tear in his white lab coat. Looking up, he fixed his glasses on his face and quickly found his footing. Looking at the three characters, a tear began to bead in the corner of his eye and he jolted forward, taking Snake in his arms and burying his head in his shoulder.
Snake patted him lightly on the back, looking at Fox as if embarrassed, and then the two stepped back. Snake smiled and winced when his eyes discovered the large bruise. "You don't look to pretty, Otacon," he admitted, and Otacon cocked his head, a look of humor on his face.
"You've got quite a bump there, too, Snake," Otacon commented, finally bringing a stinging pain in Snake's forehead. He put his hand to it, but only lightly as to not make it hurt any more. All the time he had been awake in his cell his thoughts had been elsewhere, completely shielding him from the pain. Snake shook his head and looked back at Otacon whose gaze had shifted from Snake to the woman that was all ready standing at the door on the opposite side of the hall. He turned back to Snake and without speaking asked him who the girl was. Snake shrugged and went to her side as the lock was released, sending a vibration through the steel and a click into the air.
The door drifted open, revealing Jack who was sitting on the cold floor at the back of the cell, his elbows on his knees and his hands entangled in his hair. When he heard the door sway open, its hinges squeaking, he jumped onto his feet and raced over to Snake and the others with relief. He was not…happy to see them, but relieved nonetheless. The situation was far too depressing and complex for him to even entertain the thought.
"Hi," he said tiredly. Snake found his state somewhat amusing and grinned as Jack walked past, confronting the woman. "I remember you," he said, his face only inches from hers. "What're you doing here?" The woman looked at him without taking offense and simply turned on her heel and started down the hall. She made it only a couple of feet before a loud wave of static erupted from behind. Looking over her shoulder she realized, as did the others, that it was coming from the deceased guard's radio. Otacon's heart froze, but beads of warm sweat began to fall over his eyes.
"Taylor!" a voice cried from the other end. "I'm with the American. He's not stopping," he paused. There were two sets of footsteps echoing in the background – the caller's and the American's no doubt, and one seemed relatively more hurried than the other – probably the caller's, as the American seemed to be coming without fear. "We'll be there soon." There was an abrupt silence before the woman turned briskly toward the others. The American was coming, there was a dead guard on the floor, the cell was unlocked, Snake was not inside…things wouldn't look good.
Without speaking, the woman hurried back toward Snake's cell, and the others looked at her, confused. "We'll only dig ourselves a bigger hole," Jack commented, but he saw that she had stopped before another door. Bearing the keys again, she unlocked the door and pulled it open. The broom closet.
Snake tugged on Otacon's lab coat and hurried down the hall, led by Fox and trailed by Jack. They could hear the faintest footsteps echoing from the stairwell that, through a small number of branching halls, led to their very position.
Fox moved in after the woman, followed by Otacon who found himself between the two, then Jack who was wedged against the hinges of the door and Fox's front, and finally Snake who, when the door closed behind them – keys safely returned to the woman – was forced up against the woman, face to face. He smiled, and even with the absence of light the woman could tell.
"I don't find this the slightest bit funny," she proclaimed, and Snake chuckled lightly.
"Heh…well, if we're going to be this close, we might as well know each other's names," he suggested. There was a wide smile pulled across his face, and the woman hesitated.
"Wordsworth," she said briefly, and when Snake went to comment she put her index finger to his lips. He froze in place, silence washing over them, but as he shifted his feet to find a more comfortable stance he felt something against his ankle and he could feel its weight shift as well.
There was a muffled clatter and a small bucket of soapy water tipped on its side, spilling the water on the floor as the footsteps moved into their hall. Snake cringed, realizing his mistake, and thought it best to remain quiet. The silence was, from then on, undisturbed.
"Taylor!" the guard cried, moving to the dead man's side. He knelt down beside him and touched his wound, picking up a smear of crimson blood. His head drooped low as the other figure stepped over him – the American – examining the body with his naked eye.
"Slashed," he noted too quietly for the others to hear from the confinements of the broom closet. Turning away from the guard who had attended him he looked absently down the hall. "Grey Fox?" he pondered quietly, and again the others could not hear him.
But then, his eyes went to the cement floor and moved to the right side of the hall, just a number of paces forward. A puddle of sudsy water had formed under the door of the broom closet and was seeping rapidly into the hall. The sight sparked a faint smile on his lips and he began to walk slowly toward the door. As he did, the guard who'd accompanied him began to release his firearm, ready for any surprises.
Jack and Otacon both sensed the tension. The unusually slow beat of the American's footsteps was peculiar enough to spark a sense of curiosity, and it felt as if the entire closet was beating in conjunction with their hearts. Clap…Clap…Clap. Otacon's eyes were shooting about the darkness, trying to find a reassuring glare, but there was none. There was only blackness.
Then, a boom of static…and a voice.
"Reynolds," the voice called through the accompanying guard's radio. "Reynolds, the Patriot is on his way! The American is NOT authorized on that level!" Reynolds went for his radio.
"Roger that," he confirmed, and as he let off the button the American cursed to himself in anger. The clap of boots, accompanied by the shimmering rattle of spurs, had appeared at the end of the hall, and the American had quickly, but reluctantly, pulled his eyes off of the puddle and stepped into the middle of the hall, a smile on his face.
Ocelot, whose face was lit by the overhead lights, came down the hall with a forced look of enthusiasm, and as his eyes saw the blood that had formed around Taylor his lips fell into a disgusted grimace. "What is this?" he asked, stopping before the two men – another guard at his side.
The American turned to the corpse, looking almost surprised to see it there, and then looked back at Ocelot. "Murdered," the American replied, his voice muffled through the broom closet door.
Ocelot's eyes quickly jumped to the open cell door, and then turned to the two others, which were held open behind him. Facing the American again he watched with expectation, waiting for explanation.
"I came down here to assess the situation," the American claimed. "When I returned from the docks, I had asked to speak with the Snake. The guards first denied my authorization, but when they came themselves they saw that the Snake and his friends had made it out of their cells. Still, they did not allow me on this level, but I saw it fit to investigate…I hoped they would not manage an escape." His eyes drifted over the puddle of soapy water and then jumped back to Ocelot who, while knowing the story was false, had forced a solemn expression.
Pulling a radio from his beltline, Ocelot lifted it to his mouth and pressed down on the side button. "All units – there are radicals abound. Keep your eyes open." He lowered the radio, slipped it back onto its mount at his belt and looked at the American without any expression whatsoever. "You two," he began, referring to the two guards, "search the floor." They nodded. "And you," he paused, looking directly into the American's eyes, "come with me." The American nodded compliantly and walked to Ocelot's side, his eyes still watching the water spill into the hallway ever so slightly.
Then, pivoting on his heel, Ocelot started back down the hallway, the American at his side. Reynolds and the other guard looked at each other and sighed before starting up the hall as well, to check the two cells ahead before moving throughout the rest of the floor. They walked right through the puddle, but never even realized.
And, after Ocelot's and the American's footsteps die away, and the two guards have moved into far-off hallways…the door to the broom closet is opened.